Ours is a city of small courtesies. Not small as in mean or stingy: small, as in tiny in stature, pocket-sized.RELATED CONTENT
Some people are passionate about politics. Some people are passionate about organic food. Some people are passionate about NASCAR racing. I am passionate about book clubs. Fortunately for this world, there are a lot of us out there.RELATED CONTENT
Five years ago my husband chaperoned a trip for the tough to Wolf Ridge Environmental Learning Center. He and the children came home with harrowing tales of winter survival, a ropes course and skin-chapping adventures in the snow.RELATED CONTENT
In an effort to understand the difficulty my son struggles with, I began a self-education process on dyslexia, its causes, and mostly how to help with it.RELATED CONTENT
The NRA’s prescription for eliminating the tragedy of school shootings won’t work well for Duluth.RELATED CONTENT
I love to witness the ignition of one person’s bright idea fanning a flame to warm a community for the better.RELATED CONTENT
Sipping a cup of chai tea, I glance out the window in time to see a green-clad, man-sized boy run past. A shout followed by the rat-a-tat of rapid gunfire — howling clamor replaces the shots. I take another sip of tea.RELATED CONTENT
I had to look twice. Principal Obst was standing in the school hallway directing parents toward the music concert. (Expected visual.) What arrested my attention was the massive snake wrapped around the woman’s torso. (Utterly unexpected visual.)RELATED CONTENT
My children blame Michelle Obama for changing their evening TV watching, but it isn’t actually her fault.RELATED CONTENT
Alana Friedman knows all about safe harbors. In the 1950s and 60s she grew up in the tightly knit West End Duluth community where nobody was a stranger.RELATED CONTENT
When my son, a Denfeld student, heard I was having coffee with Tonya Sconiers, the school’s recently appointed principal, he blanched.RELATED CONTENT
The worst sound in the middle of a celebratory slumber is that of crashing glass. As consciousness begins its meek tapping, one’s feeble brain begins to crank away at reality. Why is that glass shattering? New Year’s Eve left glassware on the kitchen counter. Is the cat walking across the counter? Is blitzing fluted champagne glasses onto the tile floor so satisfying that he can’t stop himself? Something more sinister begins to eat away at the edge of the reasoning. That’s not glassware. That is bigger –bigger like a living room window – bigger like somebody outside of our locked doors wanting to get INTO our house badly enough to smash through.RELATED CONTENT
S.E. LIVINGSTON: One of my kids’ favorite school field trips was when they were studying government and visited the holding cells for the accused criminals at the St. Louis County Sheriff’s office. Kids love educational experiences promising Tasers, stainless steel cells, and maybe even a bad guy, while the armed tour guides wear handcuffs and talk tough. For pure excitement, it beat the Karpeles Museum tour hands down.
Last summer, my kids and I sat in the cafeteria at Lincoln Park Elementary School. As they enjoyed their smiley fries and hamburgers, I was looking around at all the happy, munching kids. The tables were filled with children from daycare centers, youth day camps, vacation Bible school programs and many who just showed up, with and without adults. All these kids were benefiting from the USDA’s Summer Food Service Program, but, I wondered, with the demise of Lincoln Park School, what will happen to these hungry kids?RELATED CONTENT
My son John has decided to test the Santa Claus legend.
Budgeteer columnist S.E. Livingston writes about her birthday, when she came home to find one or both dogs had feasted ... possibly on mouse poison.